Tell us of your dreams...

Gold Member

So I decided to write about a dream I had. This was prompted by a site that claims to analyze your writing (I Write Like) and then tell you what author you write like. I fed it both halves of my erotic story that I'd written for SF and of course it spat back that I wrote like Anne Rice. I was taking to a friend about it and mentioned the subject matter and how quickly it came back with who I wrote like after the first half, so I fed it the second half and still got the same author. So she suggested writing something new and seeing what it came up with. She had used a "Dear Diary" passage and got told she wrote like Stephen King, for example. So I wrote about my dream and submitted it. It says that I wrote like Valdimir Nabokov for that. Interesting enough I guess. I still feel it comes back a bit fast for it to be a true analyzation, but what do I know, it could actually be doing it, or some form of it.

Either way, I decided this might make a good topic for people to contribute to. The premise is simple: Try to write about a dream or dreams you had. You need to try to be detailed. You don't have to exaggerate or garnish it, but it would be good to have detail. Something with a bit of length to read. Do your best to remember as much as you can, and stay factual with it.

To start it off, here is mine:

I fell asleep pretty much right away after I laid down. I don't remember dreaming much, only a bit of what I dreamt towards the end. What I can remember, was a ballerina dancing down a very long hallway, but doing so along what should have been a wall. Oddly, the hall was actually going straight down. The ballerina should have been falling, but she wasn't. This was also going in a sort of slow-motion. She was singing or talking, but I could not hear. This sequence was a silent movie, and it played as if it were a really old black and white film.

At some point it made a cut to a rising shot of the Empire State building, going up tho the top but not quite to the needle and zoomed in on a girl standing up there. It was the same girl as the ballerina. I cannot recall if she seemed to be crying or sad. She was talking, but I could not hear. She then jumped down into/through something, and began falling down the exact same hallway/shaft as I'd seen her dancing down. Except she didn't dance gracefully over and around objects. She crashed into and through things, yet seemingly not getting hurt. She was talking and her face seemed to show no pain or concern.

Oddly it now switches back and forth between the girl falling, and the girl dancing, first showing her falling through a sort of window box, the glass shattering and the frame bending, then cutting back and showing the ballerina dancing gracefully over that obstacle. This happened a few times with different obstacles. Eventually it just showed the girl falling away from me, down the shaft into the dark. Then it cut again.

Now I was looking at throngs of people, actors and actresses, set staff with cameras and dollies and microphones and such. I could see another girl, seemingly the exact same one as I had watched both falling to her (presumable) death and dancing gracefully down said hallway/shaft. The dream cut again as a prop obviously on wheels rolled at speed down a sidewalk in front of some buildings, screeching. Once the shot was over everyone seemed happy and congratulatory. I walked away to the right, a train was coming.

Where I walked to seemed quite wide open. Like a train yard, it had numerous railways on it. The train I had heard was coming, but so were a few others. I somewhat recognized this train, and the others. Well no, I thought I recognized them, but they actually had nothing to do with the first one. It was Thomas the Tank Engine. The rest of the trains had faces and such, like Thomas, but were not trains actually part of that universe at all. I was talking to them all, happy to be amongst trains, especially ones that were sentient and talking to me. As I walked among them, they started to get smaller. Or rather, I began to get larger. I seemed to not really care in my dream, it was as if it were normal, and I took no notice of it like you'd think. As I grew, the trains became more toy like, and were no longer "alive." They were toys I was playing with on a toy track. Sleek passenger trains, freight engines, steam engines, etc. All toys.

Then I woke up. My arm fucking hurt. I'd slept on it for an extended period of time. Motherfucker, hadn't I *just* bitched about this on a comment I made to a good friends post on Facebook? Well no, that was hours ago. But fuck! Why did I have to go and do that? Makes waking up kind of suck. Oh well; time to take a piss, drink some water, and get on the computer...

I can't really remember much of my dreams. The one I remember most is the one where I flew across the country for three days.

Most of my dreams are quite disturbing, borderline nightmares, most of the time. Usually involving people I know that REALLY bad things happen to in the most absurd ways.
I wish I could give some examples but I honestly can't remember any specifics. Sorry.

Gold Member

I can't really remember much of my dreams. The one I remember most is the one where I flew across the country for three days.

Most of my dreams are quite disturbing, borderline nightmares, most of the time. Usually involving people I know that REALLY bad things happen to in the most absurd ways.
I wish I could give some examples but I honestly can't remember any specifics. Sorry.

Click to expand...

No need to be sorry. Dreams are like that a lot of the time. You might remember a good few details upon waking, but as time goes on details become more hazy until you only recall vague parts.

I am in a room of a house that I have not been in before. It is filled with screaming toddlers running around and toys are strewn all over the floor. I am standing in the middle of it looking around, not quite sure what I am supposed to be doing, when I see a woman sitting in a chair in one corner motioning to me to come to her.

As I approach, she stands up. She is taller than me, with long dirty blonde hair and dancing green eyes. She tells me her name. (this part, I do not remember) Her voice has an alto pitch and it is playful, exciting, even. It's almost as if just by telling me her name she is inviting me to do something outrageously fun and crazy. It is hard for me to describe, but I know, just by her look and sound that she is special.

At this point, I notice other women in the room. They are gathering the children and taking them outside. One by one everyone leaves the room and it is just myself and the blonde woman left. She tells me to sit in a simple wooden chair that is in the center of the room. I do so, feeling somewhat puzzled, yet excited at the same time. I distinctly remember that my heart was beating hard in my chest as I sat with my back to her.

She is talking to me now, I don't her her words, just her soothing tone, and I take a deep breath and slowly release it. Her hands lay softly upon my shoulders and I feel the heat coming off of them...a heat more intense than that which comes off of a normal person hands. I know this woman is a healer and my heartbeat slows.

She starts rubbing my shoulders and I look down to see my shirt is no longer on me, nor is my bra. This does not alarm me, for I know this woman can be trusted and will not harm me. She starts to hum a familiar tune, something from a bluegrass album that I have. I don't recall the exact song, but it comforts me. I close my eyes and drift along on a wave of contentment.

When I open my eyes, I am in a darkened room laying on an enormous bed atop a goose-down comforter. I hear someone enter the room and then see a single candle lit near the foot of the bed. I don't see who is carrying it, just the movement of the flame getting closer and closer to me. The glow comes to rest between my legs, and for a brief instant I recoil, drawing my knees up and stiffening on the bed.

I hear the woman's voice again, but this now it is even deeper than before. She tells me not to open my eyes and to just breath and feel, nothing more. I feel my thighs being pushed apart with whisper soft pressure and then I feel the heat of warm breath at my mans.

Okay, so this is mostly from distant memory. There's a good chunk in the middle I have no recollection of, but here goes:

I've just moved into a new house with my family. I'm a teenager again and I've been given the upstairs bedroom. My things are still in large boxes, some opened and spilling their contents, and some still closed and stacked.

My new room is a nice loft with a skylight staring straight into the sun, its light streaming through in beautiful ribbons of yellow. The bedroom is rich with wooden walls, ceiling and trim. The floor is covered in white carpet, aglow from the beaming skylight.

I'm looking around at my partial state of unpack, when slowly, one of my socks starts to levitate. It slowly bounces in mid-air while making its way toward me. I can't take my eyes off of it. It sits, hovering, bouncing, drooping before me as if it wants to enjoy the beauty of the skylight with a new companion. I reach down, but it lunges away from me toward the door. I try to follow, and it darts out of the room. I don't want to leave though. Soon it'll be dark and I am too unfamiliar with the house to wander.

Most of the following day is a mystery, lost in the depths of my mind.

That night, again in my bedroom and armed with a bag of white flour, the sock once again dances through my bedroom doorway. I hide the flour behind me as the sock bounces in its approach. Again it stops just by my feet at the foot of the bed. It pauses, almost completely still as if studying my movements. I slowly bring the flour to my side, stopping briefly to conceal my intention. Quickly, but unthreateningly, I turn up the bag, emptying its contents onto bed, floor, feet and sock.

As the cloud begins to settle, a familiar outline forms from within the quickly clearing fog of powder. The sock, now followed by paw prints, is held in the maw of a small, ghostly dog! The small, flour-covered fellow prances around the room, unaware of his powdery coating. Soon however, the coating is gone and all that remains are pawprints in the thin layer of confection on the floor.

Weeks pass, and I'm able to see the ghostly creature more clearly, but I sometimes lose sight of him until he picks up the sock again. I like to go on walks at dusk, with the little dog leading me on my way. I cannot touch him, but he stays with me wherever I go.

It's now fall, and I am beginning a new semester at a high school I've never set foot in. The halls are wide, its floors stretching as far as the staircases at either end and covered in shiny, slightly worn yellow tile. The walls are lined with lockers, also painted yellow, but brighter than the floors. The high walls are wood, eerily matching those of my bedroom but feature deep red banners hanging from the ceiling, and there are the stairs at either end.

Something is missing. It looks like a high school hallway. It has everything a high school hallway should have: hard tile floor, bright yellow lockers, deep-red banners showing the school colors, stairs at either end, and doors concealing classrooms for the students.

Students. I am alone. There are no sounds, no adults, and no students. It appears that time has quickly passed into night while I was taking in my surroundings.

But there is a sound. A faint patter, with a quiet clacking. It is approaching from in front of me. As it nears, it is pursued by darkness down the hall, coming toward me. Patter, clack, patter, clack. Is it the sound of the darkness? My heart begins to pound as the sound gets closer. Patter, clack, patter, clack.

I should be able to see it just on this side of the boundary separating the approaching darkness from the precious light that surrounds me. But I can't. At least not quite. I begin to see the familiar outline of a dog that has become familiar to me; a small figure I now realize is the ghost of a creature long dead.

The dog stares at me, its ghostly eyes fixed on mine, beckoning me to follow. My heart still pounding, I unsteadily begin to step forward. My palms sweaty, my chest heavy, and my breathing labored. We make our way down the hallway, through the fading light, over the boundary and into the shadow. The yellow lockers turn grey, then black as we progress deeper into the cold, and the dark, and the unfamiliar.

We reach the stairs at the end of the long, dark hallway. I look up, the height of the stairway obscured by pure darkness. The ghostly dog, now glowing like clear, backlit glass in the pitch black hallway, moves behind the stairway. It sits, panting in front of a closed, three-foot-high wooden door.

The dog looks up at me, its transparent eyes begging, pleading for something. I bend down, nervously put my hand on the latch and turn.

The door creaks, and begins to open. My heart still pounding, my breath still shallow and my chest is caving inward as the door creeps slowly open. Suddenly, light from inside the three-foot-high closet slams on. Crawling on hands and knees, twin sisters, appearing to be young, but with age hiding in their faces claw their way towards me from within the depths of the closet, their eyes fixed squarely on mine. Their voices emit in discordant tones, "We've been here a long time."

I awake with my cat, my real one, on my chest causing my chest to cave a little and my breathing to be a little heavy.

They said more, but I don't remember the specifics. I do know that the bedroom early in the dream was theirs, and the dog was theirs. I do not know whether they were dead or alive in the dream.

That's a dream I would try very hard to resume. Sadly I've only been able to pull that off a couple times.

Click to expand...

I remember a night or two when I would dream something fascinating, then wake up, get a glass of water or whatever, then go back to sleep and pick up where I left off. What the dreams were I couldn't tell you, but I remember that I was fixated on whatever they were.

I've had a number of story-type dreams like this one, and I started typing them out the next morning. Just tonight I read several of them, and I tell you I don't remember any of them except for one just because it wound up being totally bizarre -- water skiing off the back of a subway car underneath the space shuttle as it glided in for its landing in the Florida Everglades.

Gold Member

I remember a night or two when I would dream something fascinating, then wake up, get a glass of water or whatever, then go back to sleep and pick up where I left off. What the dreams were I couldn't tell you, but I remember that I was fixated on whatever they were.

I've had a number of story-type dreams like this one, and I started typing them out the next morning. Just tonight I read several of them, and I tell you I don't remember any of them except for one just because it wound up being totally bizarre -- water skiing off the back of a subway car underneath the space shuttle as it glided in for its landing in the Florida Everglades.